The Souvenirs

I didn't suss for years. A decade's passedsince I unpacked and put the Chinese lionson the fireplace, stony-faced and facing me.At first I couldn't tell the female from the male.I'm told the lump beneath her paw's her whelp.In both their mouths are balls you roll; a fingerfits (and not pleasantly) between their teeth.They often seemed more dragon-like to methan leonine – huge plated eyes and cursiveavian claws – more so when the red wine reachedthe halfway-mark. Today I moved them to the hall.Their pit-bull snarl, now trained on the front doorbreaks over visitors. Repelling thingsis what such beasts are for. It all adds up.Ten years' bad luck. That daily dose of friendly fire.

From The Forward Book of Poetry 2012 (Forward, £8.99), first published in Loudness (Seren, £8.99) and shortlisted for the Felix Dennis prize for the best first collection. To order a copy for £7.19 with free UK p&p call Guardian books service on 0330 333 6846 or go to theguardian.com/bookshop.